


Last Friday Night

by FelidArachnid



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Drunken Flirting, Drunken Shenanigans, Drunkenness, F/M, Flirting, Kissing, Office Party, Party, everyone is having a good time and no one is sad, this is really self indulgent please forgive me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-18 14:04:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7318189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FelidArachnid/pseuds/FelidArachnid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She’d always attested that she hated the taste of beer, but that was before she’d tried it in his mouth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Friday Night

It was a clear, beautiful summer’s evening; the kind that you reminisced about years later. A comfortable late-night coolness had crept over the garden, but the atmosphere was kept warm and bright by the good-natured chatter and slow sipping of alcohol. Everything seemed just a little bit… _more_ – the air felt fizzy, and the muted glow of the fairy lights Mercy had tastefully hung around the trees occasionally appeared to twinkle cheekily. 

Symmetra passed a hand over her eyes and smiled to herself. She recalled that she had not drunk like this for a very long time, and she hoped it didn’t show. Despite this, she was pleased to find she had managed to hit a comfortable midpoint of drinking – she was perhaps just a little tipsy enough to enjoy the party through a slightly muffled haze. Absently, she rotated her drained glass in her hand, listening to the remaining ice cubes clink against one another. She didn’t even feel particularly bothered by Lucio’s speakers any more, tucked away in the corner and thumping out a steady pulse that she felt, distantly now, in her chest and her skull. 

Reinhardt had long given up on trying to take control of the music, and was dancing good-naturedly with Mercy. She giggled helplessly as he lifted her across his shoulders with ease and spun slowly on the spot. It had been her idea to set up the garden for drinks and food – the barbecue stood cold and long-finished in the corner, although Soldier 76 was still stubbornly dressed in his grease-stained apron – and Symmetra admitted it had been a rousing success. The combination of good weather, food and alcohol had loosened everyone’s tongues and opened them up just a little bit more. 

Even D.Va, who at nineteen was technically too young to drink by Overwatch’s own standards, had twisted Soldier 76’s arm with the logic that ‘I’m of age in South Korea!’ and was now gleefully racing Lucio to the bottom of a bottle of some sugary, brightly coloured substance. 

Torbjorn sat at a picnic table, legs swinging off the ground, soaking his beard in a tankard and listening intently to Junkrat, who was perched next to him explaining something with great animation and broad hand gestures. Occasionally they both let out raucous laughs that permeated the air. 

As Symmetra looked around at everyone, she felt suddenly immensely proud and fond of them all. It occurred to her that she had not seen the group this relaxed in a long time – nor indeed had she herself felt this safe, content and peaceful. 

She glanced to one side to see Pharah striding over, tracksuit slacks hung casually off her muscular hips and a glass of clear liquid in one hand. Symmetra smiled, and shifted up on the bench to make room for her. 

“Hey,” said Pharah with a burp, slumping down. “How are you doing?”

“Quite well, thank you,” Symmetra replied, glad of her friend’s concern. 

Pharah returned the smile and sat back, her gaze moving over the stars in the night sky above. “Good…good…” Her cheeks were hot and flushed, and Symmetra wondered how many of those clear drinks she’d had. As Pharah raised it to her lips once more, she caught the sour smell of gin. 

Catching her gaze, Pharah extended the glass to her. “Sorry! Sorry, do you want some?”

“No, but thank you.” 

Pharah indicated Symmetra’s own empty cup. “You want any more?”

She thought for a moment, staring at Tracer, who had begun juggling empty beer bottles to a cheering crowd. “Well…you know what, Fareeha? I think I do.”

There was a happy thrill in Symmetra’s pulse as she let McCree upend his whisky bottle into her glass, and she felt it throb and grow within her as she laughed, and talked, and hugged, and even danced briefly in a blur of moving lights and warm bodies. She began to lose track of herself – her arm was linked through Pharah’s and they spun in a giddy circle, but then she was hand in hand with McCree, dancing an ungainly jig, before being swung into Tracer’s laughing arms, and then at one point she was spinning wildly through the air with a hand on her waist and another at her back, side-stepping around a manic peg leg, and glanced up to see Junkrat laughing fit to burst… – before she finally toppled into Mei with a storm of apologies and allowing herself to be gently lowered onto the nearest chair. She hiccupped, and turned down Zarya’s offer of a shot of vodka.

“You are sure?” boomed the Russian. “It is very good – I had it brought from my home country!”

“Maybe later,” giggled Symmetra, pressing her fingertips into her temples. “I do not want to know how strong it might be!”

Zarya roared with laughter. “Maybe you are right! Perhaps only I can handle!” As if to make a point, she put her lips to the bottle and took a long, deep gulp. 

“Nonsense!” bellowed Reinhardt from his seat, raising a tankard. “I will take a drink of your Russian water!”

Most had stopped dancing by now and were collapsed, exhausted, around the garden. Some good-natured cheering started up as people began egging Reinhardt and Zarya on, but Symmetra left them flexing and laughing at one another, and wandered off.

She found Lucio and Junkrat perched on garden chairs, sleepily watching Tracer attempt to perform a card trick with a sticky, worn deck of cards. It was well known that Tracer could handle her alcohol with a grace that rivalled most of the older men, and her movements were fluid and confident despite the armfuls of beer bottles littering the table. 

“Kay, so I’m gonna cut the deck now, okay?” She fixed Lucio and Junkrat with a serious look, and Symmetra had to hold back a giggle at their dull, unfocused expressions. 

“Seems like a – perfectly good waste of…of them cards, f’you ask me,” muttered Junkrat, swaying slightly. 

“Nah…nah,” Lucio shook his head and slapped a hand on the junker’s shoulder. “She means – y’know…like you – take the cards – ” He made a placing motion with both hands. “And do that.”

“ _Look_ ,” said Tracer in an exasperated tone of voice, shuffling the cards with one hand. “Ok. So.” With a deft, rapid movement she flipped one out into the other hand and turned it around. “Was _this_ your card?”

There was a pause while Junkrat attempted to focus on the card, furrowing his brow and wrinkling his nose. Again, Symmetra had to suppress the urge to giggle. 

Eventually Junkrat sat back, and let out of a shout of laughter. “M’sorry mate but…fuck ‘f I remember what my card was!”

Lucio joined in the laughter, and so too did Symmetra, unable to help herself. Tracer pouted slightly but couldn’t help but grin. “You’re fuckin’ useless Rat, y’know that?”

“Hey now, calm down love,” said Junkrat, with a drunken stab at imitating her accent. “Very impressive, that trick.”

“Yeah, Lena,” snorted Lucio, lowering his beer bottle. “You’re gonna have to teach me that one – _HEY!_ ” He let out a girlish shriek as Tracer shed the entire deck of cards over his head. Symmetra ducked away to avoid the deluge, and slipped as she did so. At the last moment, Junkrat’s hand caught her above the elbow, and she felt herself hoisted upright into a chair.

“Thank you,” she hiccoughed, covering her mouth with one hand.

He squinted at her. “You all right?”

“Yes…yes, I’m fine,” she said more steadily, flapping her hand slightly. “Just a bit dizzy.” She attempted a reassuring smile and turned to observe the rest of the party as she waited for her head to stop spinning so much. 

“M’not surprised,” grinned Junkrat, slumping back in his seat. “You’re a pretty fun dancer once you get goin’!”

“What? Oh – ” Symmetra inclined her head as she recalled briefly being spun around in his arms. “Thank you.”

She was focusing so much on the sounds of the party, and on Tracer and Lucio’s shrieks as they chased each other around the garden, that it was several seconds before she became aware that Junkrat was still staring at her with an unabashed, unfocused gaze. She blinked at him uncertainly, and a slow, drunken smile hoisted itself onto his thin face. “Sorry! Sorry…it’s just…Not seen you without – without all the – ” He waved his prosthetic arm vaguely around the crown of his head. 

She assumed he meant her headgear. “Oh. Yes. I suppose you haven’t.”

“What’sit for?” he asked, twisting the cap off another beer with his metal hand.

“Um – it maps out the battlefield for me,” she said hesitantly, pressing her palm into the cool surface of her glass. “I can receive information from the ships and see pathways and objectives.” She didn’t feel like explaining that it also had a much more personal use – namely, helping her to tune out what was unimportant and focus on the objective. 

“Huh. Very high-tech,” commented Junkrat. “All this does is help me walk!” He stuck his prosthetic leg out and slapped his other knee with a chuckle. 

“That’s important too!” insisted Symmetra.

“Well, yer not wrong there,” nodded Junkrat, swigging deeply from his bottle. “Just meant – y’know? You lot are all so…so technical.” He seemed to visibly suppress a shudder, and then offered her the beer.

“No…no,” she giggled, pushing it away. She was faintly aware that she was pushing her limits with the alcohol, but she was happy enough not to care. She felt electric, but also heavy, and strong and capable of – well, anything. That didn’t change the fact that she detested the taste of beer, however.

Junkrat shrugged, apparently unoffended, and finished the bottle himself. Symmetra watched with some interest as he removed the lid of yet another. “Your hand must be very strong.”

“Wh – this old thing?” Junkrat waved his prosthetic. “H’yep…It’s pretty spiffy, if I do say so meself.” He presented it to her proudly without invitation, and she bit back a chuckle as she dutifully took his hand in her own to inspect it. 

“See, now _this_ is me button thumb,” he said jovially, wiggling the metal thumb between her fingers. Symmetra laughed, and shifted around in her seat to face him better. “And _this_ is me trigger finger,” he added, tickling her palm with his index finger. She squealed drunkenly and involuntarily closed her hand briefly around his.

“And this – er, well, I’ll spare yah the details…” he said, winking roguishly and indicating his middle finger. 

A funny thought struck Symmetra – was he _flirting_ with her? She had trouble noticing flirting at the best of times, never mind when she was drunk. But then again, Junkrat wasn’t exactly the subtlest of people. He was certainly leaning in rather closer than was necessary, anyway. 

The thought of meeting his eyes unnerved her, and she instead glanced shyly over his chin, neck and the tanned expanse of his shoulders emerging from his tank top. Somehow the whole idea of him flirting seemed wonderfully, stupidly ridiculous, and she found herself sniggering yet again.

“Hey!” he said, half-jokingly, half-indignantly, pinching her cheek. “What _you_ laughing at?”

“Just… _snrk!_ ” She suppressed another snort of laughter. “Nothing!” 

“Yeh laughin’ at me?” he demanded teasingly, leaning forward just enough to nip the tip of her nose between his front teeth. It didn’t hurt, much, but it shocked Symmetra enough for her to stop laughing and sit bolt upright, blinking rapidly.

Junkrat had the grace to look remotely abashed. But only for a second, and then his cheek splitting grin was back. “Guess I just can’t help meself…Terrible, ain’t I?”

She snorted, and shoved a hand into his chest. “No. But you are an inconvenience!”

“Oh, _am_ I?” he retorted, his hand closing around her wrist before she could withdraw it. “You fancy lettin’ me _inconvenience_ you for a while?”

The line was so ridiculous, so stupid, that Symmetra didn’t even immediately twist her wrist free. “An inconvenience _and_ ridiculous,” she added, prising his fingers open.

“Quite the package, right?” he said in what was presumably supposed to be a seductive purr. She only rolled her eyes, but her grin did not fade. 

Realising her glass lay abandoned on the grass, she stooped to pick it up and got to her feet. It occurred to her that she should return the other forgotten glasses on the table to the kitchen, and began collecting them in both arms.

“Hey…he – where’re you goin’?” asked Junkrat, perturbed. 

“These just need to go back to the kitchen!” she said cheerfully, swaying where she stood. Standing up so suddenly had reminded her that she was still fairly drunk, and it was with some difficulty that she focused her gaze on Junkrat once more. He looked confused, but she wasn’t sure why, so she turned to leave, stacked glasses tucked into the crooks of her elbows.

As she turned, she wobbled dangerously, and nearly went down. “Whoops!”

“Watch y’self,” he sniggered, suddenly appearing at her side and steadying her with a hand at her elbow. “Want a hand?”

With some difficult she extricated several glasses and a couple of bottles and thrust them at him. He rolled his eyes in a passable imitation of her, and followed her across the grass, past the remaining partygoers, and into the gleaming kitchen, occasionally placing one hand in the small of her back to steady her every time she stumbled. Each time this happened, Symmetra giggled slightly louder, and she’d be lying if she didn’t admit that a couple of the stumbles had been faked purely to see if he’d put his hand there again. 

The kitchen was silent and grey in the unlit gloom. The table stood forlorn and alone against one wall, all its chairs moved outside for the party. Symmetra marched confidently over to the sink – with one more choice wobble – and began unstacking the glasses to line them up neatly on the countertop. 

Junkrat joined her and watched with interest as she nudged them perfectly into alignment with one another. Normally she’d blush, or even feel a little irritated at him watching her neatness so closely, but all her usual stiffness and self-consciousness felt far away. 

He waited until she was satisfied, and then, grinning maliciously, he very deliberately extended a finger and pushed the nearest glass slightly away. 

She blinked, and moved it back.

He did it again.

This time, Symmetra took his meaning, and breathed out hard through her nose. If he was so determined to be annoying, was she going to rise to the bait?

Yes, she had to admit to herself, reaching over and moving the glass once more. 

As he raised his hand once more, she swiftly darted forward and yanked his wrist hard, swivelling him away from her glasses and with enough force to take him by surprise. His lower back thudded into the counter and he stared down at her, holding the other hand up in surrender. 

Defiantly, Symmetra glared up at him, pressing him away from her against the kitchen surface. 

“Touched a nerve there, did I?” he murmured surprisingly quietly, smirking slightly. 

“You have no idea,” she muttered back. She still held his left wrist, pressing it against the cupboard door. Almost without her realising, his long fingers folded over hers and began gently rubbing the back of her hand. At the same time she became aware of this, she also realised his knees were splayed slightly apart, to better prop himself up with his peg leg, and she had slotted herself neatly between his thighs. 

They had remained this close for too long for it to be passed off as an accident any more, and she glanced up at him with a thumping in her chest and a funny hot feeling in the air that she recognised from previous experience. It was the moment just before a kiss, when you’d passed the threshold of whether or not it would happen, and instead reached the heart-stopping few seconds of _when_ it was going to happen.

She half expected Junkrat to take the initiative, but he was either too shy, or too drunk, or too polite, or – anyway, she could tell he was just going to stay there, hovering half over her with his eyes half open and his lips slightly parted, so she stretched up –

She’d always attested that she hated the taste of beer, but that was before she’d tried it in his mouth. He recovered quickly, and reciprocated with a kind of fervent enthusiasm that made her feel taut in the core of her stomach. Drunkenly they grasped at one another, his hands running down her back, and lower, tightening around her behind so that her summer dress hiked dangerously high. Her hands found their way up inside his top and moved greedily over the contours of his chest. 

They could have been kissing for seconds, or minutes, or hours, Symmetra wouldn’t know, but she abruptly broke away as the smaller, more sensible part of her brain reminded her that someone could very easily wander into the kitchen and catch her, _her_ , and Junkrat tearing at one another. He lowered his head and buried his face into the curve where her neck met her shoulder, and she involuntarily pressed herself harder against him. He responded with a groan that made her tremble, and swore under his breath into her skin. She’d never heard a curse word sound so provocative before, and it made all other profanities seem childish and laughable – as though this was how swearwords were supposed to be used, with a low, hot breath into the body of someone you were just discovering. 

Desire and reluctance fought within her, and the latter won. With a sigh she pushed him gently off and stepped back, her hands trailing gently down his forearms to rest briefly against his fingers. 

“Whatsamatter?” he mumbled blearily.

“Just tired,” muttered Symmetra, blushing and look studiously away from his face. “I think I might go to bed.” A shiver ran down her back as she thought of extending the invite to him, but she suddenly felt too tired, and too complicated, to dare it now. 

“M’sorry…” said Junkrat hesitantly, and she laughed softly and pressed her forehead against his chest. “No…it’s just – this is just – ” She wasn’t quite sure how that sentence should end, and opted instead to bring his hand to her lips and kiss his fingertips lightly. “Goodnight.”

She left the kitchen quickly, hands clenched at her sides, and only when she was sure she was out of sight did she pause and hastily readjust her skirt. 

 

The next morning dawned painfully bright through her open curtains, and Symmetra cursed herself for forgetting to pull them closed last night. She groaned softly and wondered if she could sit up without retching. Her head was pounding like one of Torbjorn’s hammers on a turret, and she could feel a thick, unpleasant cotton wool-like density in her mouth. Very slowly, she slid out of bed and tiptoed groggily across the carpet to her bathroom. 

She stared at herself in the mirror as she filled a glass of water, and decided that she had definitely looked worse. Her eyes were slightly puffy and shadowed, but she didn’t look nearly as bad as she felt, and she drained the glass with some optimism. Maybe her hangover wouldn’t last too long.

After several more glasses of water, she felt decidedly better, and sat back down on her bed with an exhausted sigh. She’d enjoyed herself immensely last night, although – 

With a quiet groan, Symmetra pressed both fingertips into her temples as she remembered Junkrat. Her immediate feeling was panic, swiftly replaced by confusion, and then frustration. How had that even _happened_? How should she feel about it? Would he remember it? Did she _want_ him to?

She hugged her knees into her chest and recalled a blurry memory of his laughter, and the slight bite to his voice when he teased her, and the hands on her back – chewing her lip, Symmetra shrugged. At least she could be sure of one thing – she’d _really_ enjoyed herself.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. Clumsily she groped for it and squinted at a text message from Pharah.

_“Did somebody go ‘down under’ last night? ;]”_

Symmetra shrieked and pulled the covers over her head.

**Author's Note:**

> I've arrived in Shipping Hell and I have a table reserved.
> 
> I'M JUST REALLY POOR AT WRITING KISSING AND WANTED TO PRACTICE. I hope no one is too OOC, I tried my best but not 100% convinced on the results. 
> 
> (I also like the idea of Pharah and Symmetra being good friends/whatever, if that wasn't obvious :B)
> 
> (also do you guys have any idea how unsexy the word 'peg leg' is)


End file.
